Succession
by Tintern Abbey
Summary: Young Roger deals with the aftermath of his father's death.


_Disclaimer: _All characters and settings belong to Tamora Pierce.

_Note: _This was originally posted to the Goldenlake forum in response to Malorie's Peak Prompt #76: New Beginnings.

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**Succession**

King Jasson was not a gentle man by nature, but the sight of his eight-year-old grandson's tear-stained face was enough to soften his proud features into something resembling compassion. The boy had a hard enough time as it was, growing up without a mother, and Jasson feared he had neglected young Roger while deep in the depths of his own grief. The entire country felt the loss of Prince Roland, heir to the throne and celebrated war hero, and for the last seven days Jasson cloaked himself in black and believed that he, as Roland's father, felt this loss most strongly of all.

He looked down into Roger's small face, so similar to Roland's, and realized that his grandson had dark circles under his eyes from sleepless nights. That his skin was pale rather than fair, and that his blue eyes—Roland's eyes—were red from an onslaught of tears caused by days spent alone with nobody but his toy soldiers to comfort him. The palace nanny tried her best, but she had little patience for a boy who constantly ran her ragged, wanting to try some new experiment in sorcery, and the queen hadn't left her rooms since the funeral, wrapped up in memories of the son she loved best.

They still had another son, but what would become of Tortall now that Roland was no longer heir? Roald was competent enough, but he was so quiet and bookish, preferring to stay shut up in the solitude of his rooms. Roald would never be a conqueror.

Jasson drew closer to Roger, who looked terribly un-childlike in his black tunic and hose, and laid a strong hand upon his head to stroke the unruly waves of dark brown hair. "It will be all right," he said gruffly. "Your father died a brave man."

Roger's eyes blazed in his pale face. "We have the Gift," he said. "Can't we use our magic to bring him back?"

"Your father belongs to the Black God now," said Jasson. "It wouldn't do to meddle in the Black God's work."

"You can do _anything_ with magic," Roger declared with eight-year-old defiance. "Surely we can break Father out of his tomb and make him walk again!"

"It cannot be done. The gods' ways are not _our_ ways and..." Jasson trailed off, aware that he must sound like a crotchety old man in Roger's eyes. The lecturing tone that made him sound like a forthright commander was wasted on a boy of Roger's sensitive years, and he hastily cleared his throat, wishing that Roger was a few years older. How did one explain mortality to a child? "I miss him as much as you do," he said, softening his tone. "He was my firstborn son, the one who should have lived to continue my life's work."

They called Jasson "The Conqueror," but he couldn't conquer everything. He could invade foreign lands and make their people bend to his will, but he couldn't prevent the fateful axe-stroke that ended Roland's life. He couldn't find the right words to help his grandson through his grief, when his own grief threatened to tear his strong will apart, and yet he had to stay strong for Roger. The boy idolized him.

"I'm not going to be a prince anymore, am I?" Roger spoke up. "I heard Great-Aunt Rhea say so."

"Roald is my heir now," said Jasson, noting the disappointment in Roger's face. "The throne will eventually go to Roald's son."

"And if he doesn't have a son?"

"Then you will be king, Roger. But you mustn't get your hopes up." Jasson had already planned for Roald to marry Lianne of Naxen in a year or two, and any sons Roald had would take Roger's place in the line of succession. Roger had grown up believing that he would be king, swearing that he would be a great and powerful conqueror like Jasson, and it would do no good to console Roger with the promise of a dukedom instead.

Eight-year-old boys weren't interested in dukes. They all wanted to be princes and kings, great heroes whose names would be remembered by generations to come. Jasson didn't blame Roger for his ambition, for it closely mirrored his own.

He placed a hand on the boy's back, drawing him into a rigid embrace. "You will have to take what life throws at you, Roger," Jasson said softly. "But I think you would make a very fine king."


End file.
